


To Build A Home

by tirralirra



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Featuring IKEA the true test of a relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Moving In Together, very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29602830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tirralirra/pseuds/tirralirra
Summary: Assembling IKEA furniture together is the ultimate test of love in this world....For SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021, Day 8, Tier 3: “That’s not what the instructions say.”
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 94
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	To Build A Home

**Author's Note:**

> For SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021 Day 8 Tier 3: “That’s not what the instructions say.”
> 
> Title from The Cinematic Orchestra’s _To Build A Home_ like all the cool kids do one day (but it’s not sad like the song...not much...this is fluff week, after all)

The greatest test of true love can be found for bargain prices at your local Swedish furniture superstore.

Atsumu believes this to be a fact of life, a postulate in the geometry of relationships, with all of its angles and configurations laid bare before thoughtfully designed household accoutrements with charming Swedish names. Not that Atsumu has much experience in testing this theory first hand. In fact, this is the first time he is personally experiencing it.

“Do….do people come here just to eat?” Kiyoomi has an absolutely horrified face on, like the very thought of eating food in a giant furniture retailer is so far from common sense that he has no capacity to understand it. He’s eyeing the restaurant to their right as they travel up the escalator to the showroom.

Atsumu gently jostles their elbows together as they step off the escalator and bypass the restaurant. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he sing-songs.

“ _I would never.”_

“Aw, there goes our lunch plans.” 

“Tell me you’re joking.”

He’s joking, and Kiyoomi knows it. Atsumu actually does find those meatballs confoundingly delicious, but sometimes love is about compromises, or so they say. He’ll chalk it up to the first of many tests this store will bring to them.

After all, even though it’s a weekday and they arrived promptly as the doors opened, the trickle of fellow customers around them is sure to grow to a veritable tide in the next few hours. Not ideal Kiyoomi conditions.

And of course, there is the very concept of the store itself. To the uninitiated, the store is full of pitfalls. There’s the alluring miniature showrooms, arrays of every variety of a furniture you could think of just inviting you to try them all, clever displays of Scandinavian ingenuity to solve problems you didn’t know you had, all along a labyrinth of a path that tells you where to go, when to go, what to see and how. They are all speed bumps, and ones that Atsumu would normally know to avoid by skipping the showroom level altogether, armed with a list of current stock selections in the marketplace and warehouse and single-minded determination to Stick To The List.

But, well, to the uninitiated, that’s all a part of the fun. Atsumu’s not sure if Kiyoomi is having fun yet, judging by the impassive expression on his face as he contemplates the wingback chair in front of them, but he thinks that part of the fun is dreaming about the possibilities—their future home—together.

“I don’t get it, what’s the pillow for?” Kiyoomi says, cocking his head and motioning to the little cushion hanging from the top of the armchair. “What if you’re not the right height for that? Wouldn’t that be uncomfortable?”

“I don’t know, Omi-kun, why don’t you try it?”

Kiyoomi looks skeptical, but sits down in the chair. It’s actually a perfect fit, and he looks almost unbearably stylish even in his moving-day sweats and hoodie. 

“Ohoho, Omi-omi, you look good, perhaps you want to consider a replacement for that hideous—I mean, well-loved armchair of yours?” Kiyoomi has exactly one reading chair, and he sits in it with an alarmingly contorted posture, only made more distressing by the abrasively pink coloring and violent, aggressive floral pattern. 

“Never,” Kiyoomi scoffs, fake-offended. But that doesn’t stop him from trying nearly every other armchair on the floor. It’s incredibly endearing, both unexpected and not. It fills Atsumu with a warm affection he only associates with Kiyoomi, and he feels giddy at the thought of basking in this warmth everyday together in their new joint apartment.

===

Atsumu is an expert—a self-proclaimed IKEA master, really. He’s immune to the glamor of cheap, chic interior design, form, and function, borne from years of apartment hopping/furnishing with Osamu and their mom. He knows how to navigate the weird angles of the showroom’s floor plan, the best shortcuts through each section, and the most efficient way to move from showroom to marketplace to warehouse.

So Atsumu keeps them moving, just ahead of the more leisurely, less organized crowd, but takes time to slow down and see what Kiyoomi sees too.

“I want these,” Kiyoomi says, for example, standing in a fake entryway hall, hilariously oversized in the tiny space (not that their actual apartment has a much larger genkan). He gestures at a colorful display of dog-butt shaped wall hooks adorning the wall. The silly hooks are at both exactly the opposite of Kiyoomi’s image and exactly the spirit of Kiyoomi’s taste. “Where do we get them?”

“Ah, well, we’ll grab ‘em in the ‘marketplace’ area, that’s after all the showroom stuff. But I’ll add it to our list,” Atsumu grins even as he shakes his head., typing them into a growing list on his phone.

They really only came here for a few big things—some organization pieces for their entryway, some kind of furniture for Atsumu’s hilariously large TV and Kiyoomi’s absurdly large collection of books, a coffee table and maybe a rug to somehow tie together Atsumu’s tastefully plain couch and Kiyoomi’s heinously patterned armchair. But the store has a way of suckering you in to their ingenious and sometimes cheeky home solutions, and it turns out that Kiyoomi is a bit of a sucker for them, and Atsumu is a sucker for Kiyoomi.

It’s fun, though. Watching Kiyoomi open drawers and ponder customization that isn’t even possible in their little 2LDK is thoroughly heartwarming. The way Kiyoomi drags Atsumu over by pinching his sleeve to consider the pros and cons of under-sink storage options is delightfully domestic. They just signed a one year lease, but Atsumu’s already inspired to think about something bigger—something, someday, just for them.

===

The marketplace is where things start to go a little amiss.

The kitchen section is quick work, since Osamu provided a very slim list of acceptable items to purchase from there (“The dish towels, Tsumu. The dish towels are _essential_.”).

They zoom through the linens and curtains section too, since Kiyoomi has very particular criteria for bedsheets, not that Atsumu’s complaining (it’s like sleeping on clouds).

It’s when they get towards the home organization section that there’s a little less wonder, a little more friction. First, Kiyoomi gets stuck on drawer dividers, of all things. He badgers Atsumu with increasingly specific questions that lead to larger domestic considerations, like how many pairs of socks he has and what their sock to sock ratio will be in the wash and how they’ll keep them straight. Then he gets stuck debating between tan or white storage boxes, or a mixture of both, to organize Atsumu’s and Kiyoomi’s things if need be, but _that_ brings up a whole different question of how _much_ they need to separate their belongings, if at all, and if not, how does Atsumu plan to keep everything straight?

Though the most telling moment of all is when Kiyoomi starts questioning the mechanics and integrity of _every_ picture frame option, like some kind of overzealous quality inspector, squinting at hooks and wires and screws like they will hold something more than their collection of shaky polaroids and prints.

It’s not like Kiyoomi is annoyed, but Atsumu senses an undercurrent of something else in all his questions even as he goes along with them. Luckily, the plants section is right before the warehouse, so Atsumu manages to distract him by debating the merits of real versus fake greenery in their apartment (they are both woefully inexperienced in plant care). 

After that the two of them make light work of their furniture packages, arranging for delivery to their new place the same afternoon. Atsumu keeps his promise and takes Kiyoomi to lunch for soba not too far from their new home, but even as they slurp down the noodles enthusiastically, Atsumu can’t help but feel like he’s missing something.

===

Of course, actually going to the store is really only half the battle. Maybe only a third. For all Kiyoomi’s odd behavior towards the end, since Atsumu knew what he was doing and Kiyoomi was essentially along for the ride, it is still easier than the next step.

The real battle is apparent after their purchases lay neatly stacked in the new, freshly painted living room: assembly.

“See, the thing is, they don’t have any words. Or like, very few, you know? Shouyou-kun’s designer friend, you know the one, Yachi-san, was it? I overheard her talking about it one time, like they’re super slick ‘cause they don’t need to translate instructions or anything—”

“Hm,” Kiyoomi hums, unfolding one of the booklets.

“Anyways, what I’m saying is, if you’re not used to them they can be a little confusing?” Atsumu doesn’t find them confusing, but his friends, acquaintances, and the general population seem to think otherwise. “You want to work on this together?”

“No, I think it would be much more efficient to work on different pieces simultaneously,” Kiyoomi nods, resolute, “I’d like to have some semblance of a living room before we go to sleep.”

“Okay, that works too. How ‘bout you, uh, start on the bookcase, and I’ll work on the media stand?”

Kiyoomi nods again, already flipping through the instructions. “Of course, I can handle it.”

===

Kiyoomi, as it turns out, cannot handle it.

The new media stand holds the TV and freshly assembled storage boxes. The entryway has a new shoe rack and a series of miniature dog-butts sticking out from the wall to hang their keys and coats. Atsumu finishes the stools for their window bar with a view and turns to check on Kiyoomi’s progress with the bookcase. He’s got his back to him, but Atsumu can tell from the hunch to his shoulders that Kiyoomi is stuck on something, if the lack of progress on the bookcase didn’t clue him in first.

He goes over to join him, gently dropping into a kneel across from him and flicking his eyes across the instructions. Kiyoomi, pointedly, stubbornly, does not look up.

“Omi-kun,” he tries, “I think you gotta, uh, stick that little piece into—see, that one? The L-shaped thing. And then you turn the wrench thing counter-clockwise.”

“No, no, I’ve got this, see?” he replies with an edge of annoyance, picking up an entirely different size screw than the instructions indicate. “It makes sense to attach this part first.”

“That’s not what the instructions say.”

“They don’t _say_ anything, they’re just _pictures_ ,” Sakusa grits out. He looks about two seconds from ripping up the booklet in half when he flashes a fierce look up at Atsumu, but Atsumu doesn’t react, suddenly hyper aware of the strange moments of back-and-forth they had back at the store. Kiyoomi deflates. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m not angry at you or anything. I’m just...frustrated.”

“It’s not a competition, Omi,” Atsumu says, lightly.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Kiyoomi growls back, but with no bite. Atsumu can’t see Kiyoomi’s face, but he knows the exact bow of a pout he’s formed with his lips. Any other time he might kiss it away, but this feels a little different, a little fraught with something beyond their usual banter.

Atsumu scoots forward a bit and carefully lays his hands over Kiyoomi’s hands. Kiyoomi startles and drops the tiny angle wrench with a quiet curse, tilting his head to look at Atsumu.

“Hey, Kiyoomi, please tell me what you’re really worried about, huh?” Atsumu asks, earnest in the face of Kiyoomi's agitation. Kiyoomi freezes.

Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything at first. Glances back down, almost uncharacteristically demure. Then, finally, he almost whispers his answer. “It’s so easy for you.”

“I’d like to think it has something to do with my keen spatial awareness—”

“No, not the assembling thing,” Kiyoomi clenches his fists under Atsumu’s hands, and Atsumu works them loose to intertwine their fingers instead. “The whole. Moving in together, planning our life together. You don’t seem to give it much thought while I’m—I’m a little overwhelmed, to be honest.” Kiyoomi bites his lip, eyebrows pinching together as he looks up and holds Atsumu’s gaze with an almost desperate edge to his own. “How can you so easily give yourself to me, to us? How can I ever catch up to you?”

And oh, Atsumu sees it now. The worrying about their socks intermingling, the fretting over a mixture of personal belongings, the intense scrutiny of how sturdy the picture frames would be, how easy to affix, how easy to remove. Kiyoomi is always thinking in contingency plans—the what ifs, the inevitable end. It’s what keeps him moving forward, and Atsumu loves him for it, but sometimes, maybe this time, it’s holding him back.

“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu says, melting inside, an absolute swell of affection and love pouring from his heart and flooding his body that he wonders that Kiyoomi can’t feel it surge through their connected palms. “Kiyoomi, it’s not easy. It’s so, so scary,” and Kiyoomi might look stricken at that, but Atsumu rushes to finish, “But for me it’s not about giving or taking, or a race with the finish line at domestic bliss, and I’m ahead.”

Atsumu shakes his head. It’s so hard to put into words exactly how Kiyoomi makes him feel. “You and me, we’re like—we’re putting together the pieces, one by one, with each other. And it’s not like a puzzle, ‘cause there’s no finished picture and we don’t know what it’ll look like. And there's no instructions either. But every little bit we figure out and put together  is one more thing that’s _ours._ That we build with and towards each other. You’re not just Kiyoomi to me, not just the love of my life, my one and only Omi.”

And Kiyoomi has been blushing this whole time, though it’s hard to distinguish in the glare and wash of the sunset streaming through the windows behind him. Atsumu leans forward even further, presses his forehead to Kiyoomi’s, curls tickling between them. He lightly nuzzles their noses, breathing his whole heart into his words. 

“You’re my home, Kiyoomi.” 

===

Seated at their new window bar with steaming cups of coffee, Atsumu feels content. Behind them, Kiyoomi’s hideous chair and Atsumu’s plain couch sit before an impressive set up of a bookcase and a TV stand and carefully organized storage boxes. The new rug doesn’t match anything and the coffee table is a totally different style from everything else, but somehow with all their mismatched bits they work together anyways. Before them, the city unfolds in the morning light, bright under the pale blue dawn sky, and a sliver of the Yodo river glimmers just under the horizon. It’s all new, but it feels familiar too.

It’s only been one day and one night, but here, tracing out Kiyoomi’s profile against the sky, breathing in the morning air and fresh coffee, and soaking in the ambient light and the warmth of man beside him, Atsumu feels like he’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am, continuing to make IKEA jokes, always and forever (actually this one was planned LONG before I wrote the joke in my SunaOsa exchange fic haha). I planned this to be a little more cracky but I wrote it kind of last minute and caught some feels on the way. I hope you all still enjoyed the sugar-sweet end. ❤️  
> \---  
> Edited to add that [these](https://www.ikea.com/us/en/p/baestis-hook-turquoise-80494494/) are the silly dog-butt shaped hooks if you are unfamiliar with the iconic little things.  
> \---  
> I, like Atsumu, am a self-proclaimed IKEA master, still looking for my tragic IKEA disaster counterpart, please send applications to my [twitter.](https://twitter.com/tirralirralirra) /j


End file.
